Lawrence, KS : Heart Attack

A Newsletter by Michael Coggins. Today we'll cover rock climbing, the male psyche, and cardiac arrests.

I realize that people don't just sit around visualizing when they will have their first heart attack. I also get the feeling that if most men were faced with this question, their minds would conjure images of mountain climbs, wrestling lions or perhaps even having sex. Men want to explode in a blaze of glory and I would have to admit I am guilty on this count as well. But instead of romantic escapades bringing about the downfall of our blood flow, more often it is the mundane daily activity, the time spent reading the newspaper on the toilet or spilled coffee in your lap, that halts our hearts. Thus ends my strangest intro to date.

All of that kidding aside, bringing my new line of kidding to the front and center, I had my first heart attack this weekend. It was not during some glorious escapade of daring nor was it some masculine reinforcement of my animal magnetism. It happened while I was rock climbing. What?!?!? You ask. That sounds pretty damn escapadish and Xgames worthy. Well if you were able to see me, harness cutting off the circulation to my legs and pulling my shorts up so high people on the ground thought I was climbing in briefs (I was only 8 feet off the ground), unable to climb any higher, forcing Logan to hold me off the ground by a single solitary rope. He offered support and advice ("let go of the rope!!", "climb upwards you idiot", and my personal favorite "stop crying") and I finally managed to finish the climb in a record 37 minutes and 2785 seconds. Yes, I realize that if you break it down into miles per hour, my hair grows faster than I climbed the wall, but I finished nonetheless. Most people with my particular blend of being vertically compact and horizontally expansive would know not to try rock climbing twice, but my machismo forced me to climb the higher course.

Me: Oh god, I am never doing that again
My machismo: there are girls here
Me: so the hell what? I consider myself polite for letting them go instead of me
M²: You need to get back on that wall and make sure it smells like you when you are finished.

In case you have no real experience with the male psyche, I am about to reveal to you how stupid we actually are. I got back on that wall, in order to validate myself in some sick, unhealthy and WAY outdated manner, praying that this time I wouldn't pee on any innocent bystanders underneath me. How in the world can I look less masculine than when I am whimpering, clinging to a faux rock wall, quivering my way up it at a fraction of the pace hip replacement post-ops climb. It was an illogical choice, but the thesaurus list machismo and illogical as synonyms, so at least you know where I am coming from. Back to my heart attack.

Ok, well now you know that it wasn't during some daring and romantic outburst, but you still may think..that still doesn't sound like you were spilling coffee on yourself or sitting on the toilet. Wrong again because I actually crapped my pants. The heart attack and the pants crapping were like a one-two punch and I could not recover. I signaled to Logan that I needed to get down, faking that I had made it to the top and that I had an arm cramp. My machismo took over again and wouldn't let me admit to the stoppage of my heart, so I walked it off. Girls are so lucky.

By now my alter-ego and I were at odds, so to punish him, the very next thing I did was attend a student produced version of the vagina monologues. No, I am not making this up and I still have the program, complete with a vaginal map including to-scale drawings and a compass rose. Needless to say, I immediately had another heart attack. The lack of blood to my brain at this point may be the cause of my delusions, but I am pretty sure that I was instructed to stand up and chant along with everyone else. What did we chant, you ask? Quit interrupting, I reply, you ask too many damn questions. We were instructed to say the C word repeatedly with increasing volume. I REALLY REALLY hope this was the case, because if it is not, that means that I hallucinated the entire experience and I stood up and chanted it all on my own. Man, there would be eggs on my face for that one.

If you have been to a performance of this gynecological pep rally, you know that they do, in fact, chant the c word in order restore the beauty to the word. The crowd is asked to stand, clap, and cuntinue saying it until the actress on stage is satisfied. Since I am a perpetual disappointment to demanding women, I stood, but could merely open my mouth in tempo with the chanting, for fear that this was a trick that the other white men in the audience were mindlessly falling for. HAHA you mindless white men, you said it and I bet your dates have yet to forgive you. The stories go on from there and moist, I mean most of them made me feel like the entire audience was watching me, which was quite rude of them. The summation of the show is somewhat of a baptism and it caught me a bit off guard. I don't remember the exact words of my initiation into this new, exclusive club, but I can let you know the title of my new position: Vagina Warrior. By the end of my oath, I was ready to steal some lipstick, paint my face Braveheart style, steal a shield and begin the business of being a Vagina Warrior. Fortunately for those around me, at least the ones supporting the penis party, it was dinner time and I had to illegally sneak into the cafeteria. I was apprehended, so those of you who were outraged by my gall can keep reading, by a middle aged but considerably more weathered lunch lady. At this point, with my fighting spirit primed by my anointing as a Vagina Warrior, I was on the verge of action when I realized, this lady has been a Vagina Warrior for MUCH longer than my 3 minutes, so she took my money. Let this be a lesson to the writers of the vagina monologues; your warrior training program lacks any real guidance. I was about to use my powers on a fellow warrior simply because the tactics and passion taught to me in your show didn't come with any rules or restraints. I don't know when to bring the fight, but when I get it figured out, the world's vaginas will have one powerful ally who is no pussy.

--Michael Coggins--